Disclaimer: I’m not hot. I just have a butt and a penchant for wearing leggings. Roadrunners are a new phenomenon. Unfortunately the leggings of 16th March 2017 have special powers and have not been reduced to house only leggings. Men act like leggings are an invitation to fuck. They’re just leggings. Here’s how it went down:

So I was on my way to French class and about 3 minutes from my house. I had just passed the spot where I’d gotten mugged in 2010 and was thinking about how I was going to explain in French that I hadn’t done my homework (again) due to sheer laziness. As I was listening to my music I spotted a black guy in a diarrhoea brown leather jacket running in the middle of the road against traffic. This was a one way street? Where the fuck was he going? I watched as he nearly got run over by a delivery scooter as he looked to cross over to the other side. Cue Chicken jokes.

Turns out he was jogging to me. He came over and a conversation ensued

Me: Are you ok?

Roadrunner: Yeah.

Me: Can I help you?

Roadrunner: Yeah I saw a gorgeous young lady so ….

Me: You better go find her then?

Roadrunner laughs like Ricky Gervais. Am I a comedian though?

Roadrunner: Hi I’m Roadrunner

Me: OK

Roadrunner: Can I chat to you

Me: Regarding?

Roadrunner: [sensing that he’s losing me] So do you live around here?

Me: Yeah

Roadrunner. What’s your name

I tell him. He asks if it’s short for anything. I lie and say no. I don’t have the energy. And now he’s making me late for French. Grrrrr

Roadrunner: I’m in Wembley. I’m just on my way to the gym because, you know. That’s how I live my life?

This confuses me. Are we about to have some sort of metaphysical / existential conversation? On a THURSDAY?

Me: Ok Dude I have to go

Roadrunner: Wait! Where are you going.

I explain French class. He has a weird accent

Me: What’s with the accent

Roadrunner: I went to an American school but grew up in Europe.

Me: I see.

Roadrunner: So where are your parents from?

Why Black Jesus are you bringing all these thirsty men to me?

Me: South Africa. And yours are from Nigeria right?

Roadrunner: Yes! How did you know?

Me: A strong guess

Roadrunner: Can I get your number so that we can chat later.

I give him my number. Maybe he IS my person. You never know.

Roadrunner calls me immediately to make sure I had his.

Me: Why? I’m not going to call you ?

Roadrunner does his Ricky Gervais laugh and asks me what I do. I lie.

Me: What do you do? I

Roadrunner: I’m a broker. But also I work as an administrator in a hospital.

So, he’s a broke broker who needs a side job? I sigh and go to French. This one is just a liar. I see. He said he would call me about French but it’s already after ten. I blame the leggings. It was too soon for Spring attire. The men aren’t ready. And for those that don’t know, that’s sarcasm.

Aw lawd he’s started whatsapping about my figure. I may have to block him. Sigh

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So before I get to today’s meet I have to confess something . Every Monday after the radio show I used to go to the Caribbean take away and get meals for the week. I know. IT’s my secret shame. Then I was shocked when I gained a few (like 8) pounds around the middle and hips. But one of the guys at the café seemed to take a liking to me and would give me extra big portions. I was convinced that the women secretly hated me because they always gave me WAAAAY too much rice despite e asking for not too much please and lots of sauce. So in the new year I just stopped going. I can’t be single and fat. I just can’t

So back to today and I was on the Victoria line one the way back from Euston with my suitcase and a frown as there were delays on 4 of the tube lines. It was hot and everyone was being testy. Finally the guy standing up in front of me got off the carriage and revealed, Caribbean Food Dude. Let me say that he’s cute and flirty but I always assume that’s part of the banter to get people coming back? That said Caribbean takeaways are hardly known for their customer service. Hmmmm…..

We recognised each other and started chatting. Men love to talk about themselves. Like seriously, I think it’s their hobby. Women have shopping. He told me about his life for the last 25 years back in the Caribbean and how he’s only been here a year. It passed the time as we were stuck at a red light.

I could tell that he thought that this was a golden opportunity to ask where I’d been and I eventually confessed to him that his food was making me fat! There was no mention of the 3 packs of Haribos I chase most meals with though. He told me that it wasn’t the rice as I suspected but the sauce where all the calories lay. Clutching my imaginary pearls I refused to believe that the women weren’t sabotaging me. He then said that he would take my number and give me his so that next time I was coming to the shop I could tell him and he’d prepare me a calorie low version of the meal. Like seriously? I want the calories and taste without the bloody weight gain. Why is he being solution focused.

Things were going well until he started telling me about his recent divorce and kids. Apparently the divorce was fine but he didn’t see his kids and he was ok with that. I asked if he skyped them and again no. He asked if I had kids and I tod him no and he said, ‘Why no?’ Who asks that? Er, I didn’t really know how to answer this

Numbers exchanged and time to punch his name in. Egbert! Oh dear god no, I don’t see how this would work. He called me an hour later just to make sure my number was right. Yes he’s’ cute but I don’t think we come from the same value base. I also don’t know that I could cope with the weight gain?

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Let me set the scene: It’s a Wednesday evening, the train is late and I’m 548 days into my celibacy sentence

So normally I take the train home with my Train Hubby but, ever since our disagreements over Brexit voting it’s not been the same. I endeavour to take the early trains and we do a polite office catch up instead. Besides, every time I went on a date he would be so negative that I was starting to think he wanted me to be single forever. Anyway, I digress

I was sitting on the train and a guy was sitting on the 4 seater chairs opposite. I was in the middle of a critical google search (what did the lines on my nails mean? Was I dying? Well yes but it turns out that it’s nothing) when he interrupted me to talk. I didn’t even bother to take my earphones out

Dude: Excuse me, do you live in Clapham Junction?

Me: Huh?

Dude: Do you live in Clapham Junction?

Me: No I don’t

Dude: Oh, because I’ve seen you around there.

Please note that we are on a train to Clapham Junction

Me: Nod politely with a tight smile

Dude: I live in Clapham Junction you see.

Me: Ah Ok

Dude: I work in Surrey. I’m a prison officer

Me: OK

Dude: Yeah I’ve been doing it for a year after I studied for it

Me: Congratulations

Dude (perking up): Thanks (he turns his whole big body towards me like he’s going to tell me a secret). There are two prisons but I work in the men’s prison.

Me: OK

Dude: So what do you do?

Me: I work for local government.

Dude then proceeds to tell me about his Housing Benefit woes and how he owes the Council £400 and is paying it back £40 a month.

Dude: So where do you live?

Me: Fulham

Dude: So do you take a bus from Clapham Junction

Me: Overground

Dude: Ah you change at West Brompton right? Yeah I used to work for Overground

He seems so proud

The only thing I can say about this dude is that he doesn’t need e to partake in the conversation

Dude: So I’m from XXX

Me: Yes I know where it is. West Africa

Dude: How do you know it ?

Me: I have an ex from there and friends

Dude: Where is your ex?

Me: Chicago

Dude: I have a friend in Chicago . His name is William Henson. Do you know him?

Me: No

Dude: Why are you smiling?

Me: Chicago is kinda a big place

I know. I had to stay there once as I missed a connecting flight. They put us up at the Holiday Inn

Me: Oooh fancy

Dude: Yes it was . So do you have facebook?

Me: No I don’t (I can’t lie well and he raises his eyebrows). I deleted it recently (not entirely untrue)

Dude: Ok so can I have your number?

Me: No it’s ok

Dude: Oh. Don’t let what you ex from XXX did put you off us.

Me: It hasn’t

Dude. (confused) Oh. Maybe next time then?

Me: mumbles something

The train finally pulls into Clapham Junction and I move into the aisle. Let me clarify that there are hardly any people on the train. So why can I feel this man’s body against my arse? Why is he touching me? I run off the train and up the stairs.

So, this is why! He’s turned what was already a micro-aggressive situation into a creepy one. So now when I’m rude to the next dude it will seem disproportionate. We’re tired.We just want to be left alone to google why our nails may have those weird lines on them